فصل 73

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CHAPTER 73

LIKE SOME STRANGE COMET

VON SCHATTEN, holding the Sword of Mercy, stood with the Skeleton in front of the gleaming vault, where they had been conferring quietly for several minutes. James had heard the word “prisoners” several times, had seen the Skeleton aiming his yellow eye in their direction. Each time, he felt his stomach clench in fear. He glanced toward the tunnel, considering a desperate dash for freedom. But burly guards blocked the way; there was no hope for escape.

Von Schatten and the Skeleton finished their discussion. The Skeleton stepped back. Von Schatten turned toward the gleaming vault. Holding the sword handle in his right hand, he raised the blade with his left, guiding the tip to the slot in the center of the door. Carefully, he inserted the tip. He paused for a moment; there was not a sound in the chamber.

Von Schatten took his left hand off the blade and slowly pushed the sword into the slot. It slid in smoothly, all the way to the handle.

For several seconds nothing happened. Von Schatten started to turn toward the Skeleton, as if to say something.

Then the vault door started to open. Von Schatten moved away quickly. Suddenly James felt the guards shoving him forward, along with the other three prisoners. They now stood closest to the vault, forming a human shield to protect the others from whatever was inside.

Slowly the massive door, made of metal more than a foot thick, came toward them, pivoting outward on hidden hinges. It opened smoothly, almost soundlessly, as though it had been oiled and opened that very morning, instead of having been shut tight for centuries.

The door reached a right angle, then, with just the faintest click, stopped. The inside of the vault was as smooth and pristine as the outside—its walls, ceiling, and floor all the same smooth, shining metal. Sitting precisely in the center of the floor was a wooden trunk, looking quite ordinary except for its hinges and lock, which were made of the same metal as the vault.

For a moment everyone stared at the trunk. Then von Schatten, apparently satisfied that it posed no danger to him at the moment, pushed past the prisoners for a closer look. He turned back to the Skeleton.

“It’s locked,” he said.

The Skeleton looked toward Scarlet Johns.

“I suspect,” she said, “that the sword will open that lock as well. Although of course it would be very unwise to open it without taking precautions.”

Von Schatten nodded. “All right,” he said. “Have them take it to the train.”

Once again, Peter was acting as scout. When they had spotted the guards in the chamber ahead, the others had stayed back, hidden in the darkness of the tunnel while Peter floated up and glided carefully forward, hoping that if the guards glanced back, they would be looking for people on foot, not somebody pressed up against the ceiling.

At the moment, the guards’ attention was on the activity in front of them. As Peter inched closer, he saw that past the guards were some other men, and a woman. He inhaled sharply when he caught sight of the hooded form of the Skeleton. He felt the fear building in him, fought the impulse to turn and fly back down the tunnel as fast as he could, past Wendy and the others, out of the Underground, into the safety of the open skies. Struggling for control, he forced himself to think of Tink.

She could be in that room.

He inched forward. Looking past the Skeleton, he saw four prisoners. He knew one of the ragged, bearded men was James, but at this distance he could not tell which. Beyond them he saw the vault, the chest…and von Schatten. As Peter watched, von Schatten’s head turned in his direction. Peter pressed as hard as he could against the tunnel ceiling, praying the darkness concealed him. Von Schatten’s dark eyeglass lenses appeared to be pointing directly at him. Did he sense Peter’s presence? Peter held utterly still, prepared to turn and flee.

Slowly, von Schatten turned away. He was saying something, apparently giving orders. The four prisoners reluctantly trooped into the vault. They surrounded the wooden chest, preparing to pick it up. All eyes in the chamber were on them. Peter turned and quickly flew back down the tunnel to report.

The chest was surprisingly light. This confirmed what James had suspected since he first saw it: there was starstuff inside. He understood now why the prisoners had been summoned to handle the chest. If it were to break open, its contents would kill anyone who was nearby. Von Schatten and the Skeleton were going to let James and the others assume that risk.

“Put it here,” rasped the Skeleton, gesturing with his claw hand toward the rubber-tired dolly. The prisoners carefully set the chest down on it, then looked to the Skeleton.

“You two pull; you two push,” he said, gesturing. “I want guards on all sides.” As directed, James and another prisoner positioned themselves in front of the dolly, grabbing its handle. The other two went behind it. The guards surrounded them—two in front, one on each side, two behind.

“You will move it cautiously,” said the Skeleton. “Or you will die painfully.”

“One moment,” said von Schatten. He went to the vault door and slid the sword out of the slot. “Ready,” he said.

“Go,” said the Skeleton.

The prisoners began rolling the dolly toward the tunnel. The guards moved with them, keeping a bit of distance, their wary eyes fixed on the chest. The Skeleton walked behind, followed by Scarlet, Mauch, and Coben, followed by Revile. Von Schatten, holding the sword, was last.

The dolly was almost to the tunnel mouth.

From the darkness came a bone-shaking roar.

The two guards in front had almost no time to react before Karl, coming out of the tunnel with astonishing speed, slammed into them, knocking them hard to the ground. The prisoners, terrified, ducked as Karl hurtled past them to the left, leveling the guard on that side of the dolly. An instant later Magill, coming right behind the bear, leveled the one on the other side with a hard fist to the face, as Karl took out the two rear guards.

The dolly was now liberated; it had taken perhaps three seconds.

Karl and Magill kept right on going. Karl’s target was the Skeleton; Magill’s was Mauch and Coben. Here the fight was more even. Magill was a powerful man, but Mauch and Coben were both skilled fighters, and they had numbers on their side. Seeing Magill coming, they quickly separated and began to circle the big man, keeping apart, feinting, looking for an opening.

As for Karl, he swiftly discovered that the Skeleton was no ordinary human. The bear charged, but at the last instant the Skeleton shifted sideways, at the same time thrusting a claw-hand deep into the bear’s thick hide. Karl roared as he fell forward, his entire body consumed by a searing pain that would have killed a man. He tumbled on the dirt and scrambled to his feet, furious, but also, for the first time in his life, fearful. He turned to face the Skeleton, who stood motionless, waiting. Karl began to move warily toward him.

For the moment, these two struggles provided cover for the group now coming from the tunnel into the chamber. Ted, Neville, and Patrick went straight to the dolly and rolled it into the tunnel. Wendy and Peter grabbed the stunned prisoners and pushed them, stumbling, after the dolly. Three of them went, but James, recognizing his rescuers, stopped.

“Wendy!” he said. “Peter!”

Peter waved in acknowledgment, but was moving past his old friend

“Please, Uncle James!” said Wendy. “We have to get out of here!” James started into the tunnel after her. He glanced back toward Peter, who was heading toward the fighting.

For the moment, Karl was holding his own against the Skeleton. But Peter saw that Magill was in trouble. Coben and Mauch had worked their way around to one side, forcing Magill to face them. What the big man did not see, but Peter did, was that von Schatten was coming up behind, drawing the sword back to strike.

“Look out!” Peter shouted, at the same time launching himself into the air.

Magill turned and ducked just in time to avoid the arcing blade. Peter flew over Mauch and Coben, straight at von Schatten, spinning in midair to position himself for a kick. As he reached von Schatten, he shot his right foot out, aiming for the head. Von Schatten, with snakelike quickness, jerked his head back and shot out his hand, grabbing Peter’s foot. Instantly Peter felt a horrible sensation of cold creeping into his leg. He had felt it before, long ago; he knew he could not allow it to consume any more of him. With all his strength, he yanked his leg away, the effort sending him tumbling erratically through the air, bumping against the chamber ceiling, almost falling.

He collected himself and turned, hovering. Von Schatten was now standing next to the workbench in the center of the room. Behind him, the fierce struggles continued—Karl against the Skeleton; Magill against Mauch and Coben. Revile was crouched in a corner, apparently trying to avoid any part of the fight; Scarlet Johns stood next to him, motionless, watching without expression. Out of the corner of his right eye, Peter saw movement along the chamber wall. But his gaze was fixed on von Schatten, who, ignoring the fighting, was reaching into his pocket. Slowly he withdrew a black velvet sack, tied with a silver cord. He held it down on the bench, raised the sword, then brought it down swiftly, cutting off the top of the bag.

Gripping the bag firmly, he lifted it toward Peter.

A tiny head appeared, poking out of the top.

Von Schatten squeezed the sack. Tink grimaced. A high, plaintive chime cut through the sound of the fighting, cut through to Peter’s heart.

“No,” he said. “Please.”

“Come here,” said von Schatten.

Peter sank to the ground, his eyes on the tiny head poking out of the sack in von Schatten’s hand. Tink looked awful, her usual glowing color replaced by a dull, ashen gray. She saw him starting toward von Schatten.

No, she chimed. Get away. He will kill you.

Peter stopped.

Von Schatten held Tink down on the workbench with his left hand. With his right, he raised the sword over her. He looked at Peter.

“Come here,” he repeated.

No!

Ignoring Tink’s desperate chimes, Peter took a step, then another. He saw movement to the right, behind von Schatten. Suddenly he realized it was James. Peter forced himself not to react. He took another step forward. Another. He had almost reached the bench. He could see that James was very close to von Schatten, tensing to attack.

With impossible speed, von Schatten spun, bringing the sword around. The flat side caught James in the forehead with a sickening sound. James fell to the ground, blood gushing from his head.

Von Schatten turned quickly back toward Peter. The sword was again poised over the helpless form of Tink.

“Come here,” he said, a third time.

Peter hesitated. Von Schatten raised the sword. Peter stepped forward. He had reached the bench.

“Closer,” said von Schatten.

Peter edged around the bench. He was now next to von Schatten.

“Put your hand on the bench,” said von Schatten.

No! chimed Tink.

“If you don’t,” said von Schatten, “she will die right now.”

Peter put his hand on the bench, next to Tink. He feared von Schatten would cut his hand off, but what actually happened was almost worse. With a sudden motion, von Schatten set the sword down and put his hand on Peter’s. Peter’s mind told him to pull his hand free, but his body would not allow him to move. He felt the awful cold seeping into him, paralyzing him as he was inhabited by the evil presence he had felt before, during a desperate struggle inside a rocket hurtling over a faraway land.

Ombra.

Peter heard a groaning voice, but it did not come from von Schatten’s lips; it came from inside his own mind.

You did not kill me in the desert, the voice said. You weakened me, so I must inhabit this host, this flesh that was once von Schatten. But you did not kill me, boy, and you did not defeat our cause. When I am finished with you, I will retrieve the chest; have no doubt of that. Do you think your pathetic little band can defeat me? No, I will have the starstuff, from here and from the island you so love. But first I will put an end to you, and your precious little friend. You should have listened to her. You should have escaped. Now you will die. And the last thing you will know is this: you failed.

Peter tried to pull his hand away, but it would not move, would not even twitch. He felt the cold deepening, felt his consciousness draining away. The room seemed to be getting darker. He was no longer able to hear the sounds of the fighting still going on by the tunnel entrance. His head slumped forward. He could now see only the ground by von Schatten’s feet.

Behind them, he saw movement.

It was James.

Somehow, despite the awful wound to his head, James had regained consciousness. He was crawling toward von Schatten. Peter felt a pang of despair, knowing that his brave friend would be killed in this hopeless effort. As the light faded from his eyes, Peter watched James, using his elbows, drag himself forward.

He was holding something. Something in each hand, in fact. Something metal, attached to something black. That was also what Peter saw, before blackness engulfed him.

Von Schatten, his attention on Peter, did not see James; did not see him clench his hands to open the clamps; did not notice anything until James, with his last ounce of strength, lunged forward and attached the clamps to von Schatten’s legs.

The underground chamber echoed with an unearthly high-pitched moan that seemed to come from everywhere as von Schatten’s body, 600 volts coursing through it, went rigid and fell backward. Peter, suddenly released, groaned and slumped to the ground. He lay there for a few seconds, and then heard a familiar sound—Tink chiming in his ear.

Get up! Get up!

Peter rolled over. He screamed at the ghastly sight only inches from his face: Von Schatten lay twitching on his back, smoke pouring from his clothes as his flesh burned with a stomach-turning stench. The worst was his face. His eyeglasses had melted, forming two black rivers down his gaunt cheeks. Left exposed were his eyes, which were not eyes at all, but two gaping holes in the center of his skull, revealing nothing inside but a red glow. Wisps of smoke drifted upward from the holes.

Peter turned away, trying not to vomit as he struggled to his feet.

This way, chimed Tink. Hurry. As always, she was ahead, leading the way, although Peter could see she was weak and flying erratically.

“Wait a moment,” he called. “I have to get James.”

He bent and grabbed James’s hands, pulling him to his feet. His childhood friend was now a grown man a foot taller than Peter, but had been so badly starved that they weighed nearly the same. Peter put James’s arm around his shoulder and together they followed Tink. She led them to the right, toward Magill, who was getting the better of Mauch and Coben. Karl was not doing as well. He had tried, over and over, to use his massive size and strength against the Skeleton, but each time he had been rewarded only with a jolt of excruciating pain. The old bear was tiring, and weakening. The Skeleton was coming ever closer.

Magill had just knocked Mauch hard to the ground—apparently for good—and had grabbed Coben in a headlock. He shot a glance at Karl, then yelled to Peter, “Get to the train! I’ll help Karl finish this lot, and we’ll be right behind.”

Peter thought about arguing, but decided that, in their current condition, he and James would be useless against the Skeleton, more hindrance than help to Magill. He glanced back at von Schatten’s smoldering body. The two columns of smoke coming from his eye sockets seemed to be thickening. Peter felt a twinge of dread.

Holding James up, he stumbled toward the tunnel, Tink leading the way. Peter noticed that some of the guards who’d been beaten down by Karl and Magill in their initial charge were groaning and shifting on the ground, starting to revive.

“Wait a moment,” whispered James.

“What?” said Peter.

“Keys,” said James, pointing toward one of the guards. Peter saw he had a ring of keys on a belt hook. “The other prisoners,” said James.

Peter bent over, snatched the keys and hooked them onto the frayed piece of rope that served as James’s belt. He slung James’s arm over his shoulder. As they entered the tunnel, Peter was intensely aware of the sounds of struggle behind them, and Karl’s roars of pain. He wondered about his decision to leave, but did not look back.

He had not remembered the tunnel being so long. His legs were weak, and it was an effort to keep James upright. Twice they stumbled badly. The third time, they fell.

Get up, chimed Tink. Hurry.

“Come on, James,” said Peter, struggling with his friend.

“I don’t think I can,” said James. “You go ahead.”

“No,” said Peter.

“Let me help,” said a soft voice, and then Wendy was bending down next to Peter. Tink was right behind her, and Peter realized how weak she was; she hadn’t even managed to say anything unpleasant about Wendy.

They managed to get James back to his feet and, supporting both his arms, started down the tunnel again. Tink, too tired to fly farther, settled into Peter’s hair.

“It’s just ahead,” said Wendy. “Next to the cells where they have my parents. We’re going to pull the doors free, but we don’t dare until everyone is safely through, because the tunnel will collapse. We’re hoping to block von Schatten from following us.”

“What about the starstuff?” said Peter.

“Neville and Ted have gone ahead with the dolly. They’re going to load it onto the train. Neville thinks he can figure out how to drive it. I hope he’s right.”

In another fifty feet they came to Patrick, standing in the tunnel next to George’s cell. He held the end of a plank that George had handed him through the cell window. The other end was wedged behind a tunnel support post next to the door.

“There you are, Peter,” he said as they approached. “We’re ready to go here.”

“But not until Magill gets here,” said Peter. “Wendy, can you help James get to the train?”

“I want to stay here with my parents,” said Wendy.

“Wendy,” said George firmly. “Help James. He needs you.”

“All right,” said Wendy. “But I’m coming right back.” She took James’s arm and started helping him down the tunnel toward the train.

“Where are Magill and Karl?” said Patrick.

“They should be here soon,” said Peter, trying to sound confident. He looked back up the tunnel, a silent plea in his thoughts.

Please come soon.

Magill had defeated Mauch and Coben; they lay in the dirt, unconscious and bleeding. He glanced at Revile and Scarlet; they had not moved from the wall. Magill turned now to help Karl. The big bear was still valiantly trying to attack the Skeleton, but Magill saw he was seriously weakened, and would not last much longer. Magill knew he could not allow himself to get within reach of the Skeleton’s claws. He looked around for a weapon. His gaze stopped at the workbench. On it lay the Sword of Mercy.

He ran over and grabbed the sword. Gripping it with both hands, he took three quick steps toward the Skeleton, who was about to make another lunge at the flagging Karl. Magill swung the sword, aiming for the Skeleton’s neck. The Skeleton somehow sensed it coming, ducking and whirling with astonishingly quickness, at the same time darting a deadly stump of a hand out at Magill. Thanks to the sword, Magill was just far enough away that it missed him.

The next minute saw a deadly dance—Magill and the Skeleton circling, Magill thrusting the sword, the Skeleton countering with his hands, neither gaining an advantage. As he circled, Magill assessed the situation. He was tiring, and Karl would soon be too weak to be effective. They needed to get out of the chamber. He began to maneuver his way toward the tunnel entrance, growling at Karl to follow. The Skeleton saw what he was doing and tried to block him, but Magill was steadily gaining ground. He and Karl managed to reach the tunnel mouth. Four of the six guards were now conscious, but in no mood to fight; they scrambled away as Karl growled at them. Magill and the bear entered the tunnel, Magill walking backward, still fending off the Skeleton with the sword.

Suddenly the chamber was filled with a furious sound, a groan that seemed to come from the earth itself. The Skeleton stopped and turned. Magill, looking past his foe, saw a chilling sight. The two columns of smoke pouring from the empty eye sockets of von Schatten’s body had united into a thick, swirling column, which was now forming unto the unmistakable shape of a dark cloaked figure, with a hooded head and glowing red orbs for eyes. It towered over von Schatten’s corpse, yet still seemed to be attached to it.

It groaned again, and with a dark snakelike arm, pointed toward the electrical cables clamped to the feet of the corpse.

The Skeleton understood. He turned and swiftly moved back to the body. Magill knew he should run, but he could not take his eyes off the spectacle.

The Skeleton was beckoning toward Revile and Scarlet. They cowered against the far wall, fearful of the dark thing now filling the center of the chamber. The Skeleton beckoned again, more insistently. Reluctantly, they approached. The Skeleton rasped something to them—Magill couldn’t hear it. They looked at each other.

“Do it!” rasped the Skeleton, loud enough for Magill to hear.

They knelt on the floor. Each carefully took hold of one of the thick black electrical cables.

“Now!” the Skeleton ordered.

Scarlet and Revile yanked on the cables, pulling the clamps free of von Schatten’s legs.

Instantly the column of smoke began to contract and descend, its two streams swirling back into the eye sockets, like black water going down the drain. In seconds the smoke was gone.

The corpse began to move.

As Magill watched in horror, the hideous charred thing that had once been von Schatten rose to its feet. It turned slowly and looked directly at Magill with eye sockets red as fire.

Magill, with Karl right behind, turned and ran.

“Maybe I should go back for them,” said Peter, for the dozenth time.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” said Patrick. “If Magill and Karl can’t handle the situation, then—”

He was interrupted by a chime from Tink, who was still sitting in his hair.

“Someone’s coming,” said Peter.

“Ready?” said George, gripping the bars of his cell window.

“Ready,” said Patrick, his hands on the plank wedged behind the support post.

They stared into the tunnel. They heard running footsteps. Then two figures came into view, and Peter’s heart leaped.

“It’s them!” he cried.

“Get back, Peter,” said Patrick.

Magill, still holding the sword, was almost to them. He was glancing back constantly, clearly frightened. Peter didn’t want to think about what it would take to frighten Magill.

“Steady, now,” said Patrick, gripping the plank. “As soon as they get here …”

Magill and the bear had reached them.

“Keep moving!” shouted Patrick. To George he said, “Now!”

Patrick pulled on the plank, yanking the tunnel support post free. At the same instant George threw himself into the door, which burst free of the now unsupported wall. Immediately huge chunks of earth and rock began to fall from the tunnel roof. A roof beam fell on George, knocking him to the ground.

“GO!” he shouted.

But Patrick and Magill had him by the arms, and were dragging him free of the falling rubble. He staggered to his feet and followed the others, who were already running to Molly’s cell. She was waiting anxiously, her face pressed to the bars. She lit up when she saw her husband.

“Oh, George!” she said. “I was so worried!”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Now let’s get you out.”

Tink made another warning sound.

“Someone’s coming,” said Peter. They looked back toward George’s cell. The tunnel had not been fully blocked by the cave-in; there was a space about a foot high at the top. Hands were frantically scooping away rocks and dirt. Through the opening Peter saw the heads of two guards.

“Faster!” called a voice. Peter recognized the rasp of the Skeleton. Then his stomach clenched as he caught sight of a face looming behind the guards—a hideous face, with blackened flesh hanging off and two glowing eyes looking directly at him.

Peter turned away.

It can’t be.

“We’d better hurry,” said Patrick. “Mr. Magill, please get the door.”

Magill handed the sword to Peter and grabbed the bars in Molly’s cell door. Patrick and George wedged the floor plank behind the support post.

“Ready?” said Patrick. The others nodded. “Now!”

Again both door and support post gave way, sending dirt cascading down into the tunnel. As Molly tumbled into the hall, George grabbed her, pulling her free. For a moment they embraced, Molly sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” said Patrick, “but we really don’t have time for that.”

Peter saw he was right. The guards had cleared away enough of the first cave-in to start climbing through the opening. The second cave-in had not brought down nearly as much debris; the pursuers would get through quickly.

“Go!” said Magill, pushing the others along the tunnel.

Nobody argued. They headed for the train—Molly and George, holding on to each other; Peter, still carrying the sword; then Patrick, with Magill and Karl bringing up the rear. Their pace was slowed by Molly and George, who were too weak to move at any more than a fast walk. Peter kept looking back over his shoulder, each time fearing he would see that horrible face. They passed the cage that had held the other prisoners, and Peter was glad to note that it was empty, its door ajar. James had used the keys.

He saw a figure in the tunnel running toward them; it was Wendy, coming back as she’d promised. She quickly embraced her parents and said, “The train’s just ahead.”

They quickened their pace a bit and soon reached the end of the tunnel, and the waiting train. As before, the doors to all three cars stood open. Ted and Neville stood in the doorway to the middle car; behind them, sprawled on the canvas-covered floor, were James and the other freed prisoners.

“Where’s the chest?” said Peter.

“It’s right there,” said Ted, gesturing toward the front of the middle car. Peter looked and saw that the chest had been taken off the dolly, which lay by the side of the tracks.

“We need to leave immediately,” said Patrick. “Neville, can you drive this train?”

“I believe so,” said Neville. “The controls have several ingenious safety features, but I …”

“Just get going!” shouted Magill, reaching the train with Karl.

Neville scurried forward to the engineer’s cab in the first car. The others helped George and Molly climb up into the middle car, a difficult task, as they were weak; and since there was no train platform, the door opening was nearly four feet off the ground. Once they were aboard, Patrick climbed in, followed by Magill and Karl, who was given a wide berth by the prisoners. To Peter, standing anxiously next to the track, it seemed to take forever for everyone to board the train. He wondered why Neville hadn’t gotten the train moving yet. He kept glancing into the tunnel.

He saw them even before he heard Tink’s chime.

“They’re coming!” he shouted.

“Neville!” shouted Ted. “Start the train!”

“Almost there!” Neville called back.

Peter looked back up the tunnel. He counted three…no, four guards running toward them. The Skeleton was right behind them.

Behind the Skeleton was the thing that had been von Schatten.

He heard a hiss of air, and turned to see that the train had finally started moving. He took a last hasty glance into the tunnel. The first guard had almost reached the end. Peter flew into the train. It was picking up speed. Peter willed it forward.

Faster.

The first guard emerged from the tunnel. Now the second guard. Now the others.

Faster.

The guards reached the doorway to the third car. One by one, they hauled themselves in. Peter prayed it would be just the guards—Magill and Karl could handle the guards.

Faster, please …

Too late. The Skeleton, with an odd slithering motion, almost lizardlike, was in the third car. Then came the Ombra creature, who seemed to glide into the car effortlessly.

Their pursuers were all on the train.

“Close the gate!” shouted Patrick, pointing to the passageway at the back of the car.

Magill ran over and slammed the metal gate shut. It had a latch; he closed it. Seconds later, the guards were attacking it from the other side, delivering powerful kicks. The metal was bending. The gate would not hold.

The train was picking up speed. Peter looked ahead; they were just reaching the Westminster Bridge station, through which they had entered the Underground. Suddenly an idea struck Peter.

“Jump out!” he shouted, grabbing one of the freed prisoners and pulling him to his feet.

“What are you doing?” asked Patrick.

“It’s the starstuff they’re after,” said Peter. “Not these people.”

Patrick and Magill, understanding instantly, started grabbing the weakened prisoners and shoving them out the door as the train reached the platform. Some went willingly, some less so. They all stumbled and fell, but in a few seconds they were all safely off the train. The last to go was James, too weak to resist.

“Peter, help me!”

Peter spun and saw Wendy dragging her parents toward the door. They were resisting, but they, too, were very weak. Peter rushed over, and together he and Wendy managed to get them out the door just before the train reached the tunnel. Wendy caught a last glimpse of them rolling on the platform, holding on to each other. Then the train was in the tunnel.

“Thank you,” she said to Peter.

“Why didn’t you jump off?” he said.

“Why didn’t you?”

Before Peter could answer there was a crash at the end of the car. The guards had broken through the gate. One of them started to enter the car, then immediately retreated in the face of a roar and a swipe of the massive paw of Karl, who stood blocking the passageway.

The train was picking up speed.

“What do we do now?” said Ted, over the rumble of the wheels.

“For now,” said Patrick, “Karl seems to have them bottled up.”

“That won’t work for long,” said Magill. “He can hold back the guards. But not that thing he was fighting back there. In close quarters like these, it will have its way with Karl. And once that thing is in here with us …”

“Both of those things,” said Peter.

The train was now traveling at its top speed, slightly above sixty miles per hour. It rocketed through another station.

“Could we push the chest out the door?” suggested Ted.

“No,” said Wendy. “If it breaks open, it could kill people. Many people. And if doesn’t break open, they’ll just get it back, and everything we’ve done is wasted.”

They shot through another station.

Tink chimed.

“He’s coming,” said Peter.

The Skeleton appeared in the passageway between the cars. Karl roared and lunged forward, then jerked violently backward. The Skeleton advanced another step.

“Give me the sword,” said Magill.

Peter handed it to him, and Magill rushed toward Karl, trying to help, but there was not enough room to maneuver. The Skeleton’s claw lashed out; Karl staggered and fell backward. As the bear gamely struggled to rise again, Magill lunged at the Skeleton, thrusting the sword. This time he miscalculated. The Skeleton, with snakelike quickness, grabbed Magill’s wrist. Magill screamed and jerked away. The sword clattered across the floor of the car. Magill stumbled back to the others, his now useless right arm dangling, his face a mask of agony.

Another station flashed past.

Karl was back on his feet, again blocking the Skeleton’s path. But he was losing ground an inch at a time, and Magill could no longer fight with him. There was no doubt now: the Skeleton was going to win this fight.

Peter picked up the sword.

“Get into the front car,” he said. “Everybody.”

“What are you going to do?” said Wendy.

“The only thing that will stop them,” he said, looking at the chest.

“Peter,” said Wendy, “you can’t…”

“Please,” said Peter. “I’ll be all right. This is our only chance. They’ll have us in another minute.”

There was no argument to that.

“Go to the front, and stay away from the passageway,” said Peter. “Mr. Magill, when I tell you, call Karl.”

Reluctantly, the others went into the front car. Peter, holding the sword, positioned himself next to the chest. Karl, still snarling, had been backed up halfway through the car. The Skeleton came relentlessly forward, followed by the guards and Ombra. Peter tried not to look at the glowing eyes. He knew they were looking at him.

Another station flashed past.

Peter took a breath, then turned to Magill.

“Now!” he shouted.

Magill growled something. With a roar, Karl reared up on his hind legs, took a massive swipe at the Skeleton, then spun and ran past Peter into the forward car.

Now Peter stood alone next to the chest. He tapped the lock with the sword.

“If you come any closer,” he said, “I’ll break it open.”

The Skeleton hesitated.

Ombra spoke, his groan coming through the charred hole that had once been von Schatten’s mouth: “You don’t know that the sword will break the lock.”

“You don’t know that it won’t,” said Peter.

A moment of silence. Another station flashed past. The train rocked violently as it rounded a curve it was not meant to take at such high speed. Peter staggered sideways, then caught himself.

Ombra moved forward, toward the Skeleton. The guards spread to the sides of the car. Ombra groaned something, too low for Peter to hear. Peter gripped the sword tightly and drew it back.

There was an urgent sound from Tink, and at the same instant the two creatures moved toward Peter, the Skeleton to his right and Ombra to his left. With all his strength, Peter swung the sword at the lock. The two pieces of metal clashed together in a brilliant cascade of sparks; there was a clattering sound as the tip broke off and fell to the floor. A light whiter than white filled the car. The guards screamed and covered their eyes. The Skeleton staggered backward. A hideous groan escaped Ombra.

The chest, its lock broken, started to open, the lid lifting by some unseen mechanism. It moved very slowly and had opened perhaps an inch, but the light filling the car had become, impossibly, even more intense. The Skeleton and Ombra turned away, driven back, bent over like trees in a storm. At the back of the car the guards, covering their eyes, crawled toward the rear car.

The train hit another curve and leaned precariously to the left. A stream of golden brilliance spilled from the still-opening chest, spreading swiftly across the canvas-covered floor, seeping through into the metal beneath, the undercarriage, the wheels, and axles.

Then two things happened almost at once. One was that the train, leaving the curve, righted itself violently, sending Peter stumbling forward.

Watch out! chimed Tink.

Peter blindly raised his hands to catch himself. They struck the lid of the chest, slamming it shut. Instantly the brilliant light was gone. Peter’s momentum carried him over the trunk. He fell sprawling in the center of the car.

The second thing that happened was that the train entered the Whitechapel station, which was in the open air. It was no longer underground.

And then a third thing happened.

“We’re flying!” said Neville, sticking his head out of the cab of the first car.

“What?” said Ted. He was with the others at the back of the car, trying to follow the action behind them. They had seen a blinding light fill the tunnel on both sides. Now, suddenly, it was gone.

“The train!” said Neville, scurrying back. “It’s flying!”

“Good heavens,” said Patrick, staring out the window. “He’s right.”

The train, all three cars of it, was ascending gracefully into the dark London sky.

Wendy ran to the passageway and peered into the next car.

“Oh, no,” she said.

Peter, dazed by the fall, struggled to his feet. He no longer had the sword. And he was no longer next to the chest.

The Skeleton was.

Peter spun around, looking for an escape. The car door still stood open. Peter could see the lights of London, now hundreds of feet below. If he could get to the door …

But in front of the door stood Ombra.

Ombra started toward Peter, a walking corpse, eyes glowing, a charred hand reaching out. Peter took a step back. He heard a warning chime from Tink, and turned. The Skeleton, leaving the chest, was coming toward him from that direction.

He stepped on something. The sword. He reached down and picked it up. Ombra took another step closer. With all his strength, Peter lunged forward and thrust the sword into Ombra’s body.

It went into his chest, all the way in to the handle. Peter, sickened, let go, stepping back.

Ombra kept coming. The sword impaling him had no effect.

Peter whirled around. The Skeleton was right behind him now, reaching out. The three of them had come together in the center of the car. Peter had nowhere to go. The Skeleton’s claw hand brushed against him. Peter screamed in agony.

“It will be worse,” groaned Ombra. “Much worse, before I let you die.”

The Skeleton raised his hand again. Another horrible jolt of pain. Peter dropped to his knees, whimpering.

“Leave him alone!”

It was Wendy. She had come through the passageway. She was standing by the chest. She put a hand on the lid.

“No,” said Peter. “It’ll kill you.”

“The boy is right,” groaned Ombra. “If you open it, you will die.”

Wendy ignored him, her eyes boring into Peter’s.

“Do you remember,” she said, “how we got off the ship?”

Peter struggled to think.

“I trusted you then,” she said. “I’m going to trust you now.”

Peter frowned, desperately trying to grasp what she meant. Then, suddenly, he understood.

“No,” he said. “You can’t…”

Too late. With a fierce grunt Wendy shoved the chest forward hard, directly at the trio in the center of the car. As it slid across the canvas toward them, the Skeleton and Ombra both started toward her; but the moment they did, Wendy yanked up on the lid. Instantly the brilliant light again filled the car. Wendy, with a desperate lunge, pulled the lid all the way open as she dove sideways, hitting the floor and then hurtling out of the car and into the night, a thousand feet above London.

Peter was a half second behind her, but the starstuff had left him nearly blind. He spun around desperately in the sky, screaming “Wendy!” He heard nothing but the rushing wind around him, and a hideous howl coming from somewhere above.

And then he heard Tink, far below.

You’d better hurry, she chimed. Because I can’t carry her.

Following the sound, Peter dove straight down, flying faster than he ever had despite his near-blindness.

“WHERE?” he shouted. “TELL ME WHERE!”

Over here! came the chimed response.

Peter veered toward the sound, then, at Tink’s direction, veered again, and then again. His eyes were starting to adjust. He could see buildings rushing toward him.

Where was she! Where was …

“HERE!” shouted Wendy, and then he had her in his arms, holding tight, fighting with all his strength to slow their descent. He almost did; as it was, they came down clumsily, but not fatally, tumbling onto the roof of a butcher shop.

“Are you all right?” said Peter.

“I think so,” said Wendy. “Next time, could you catch me a bit sooner?”

“Next time,” said Peter, getting to his feet, “I might just stay on the island.”

They looked up at the sky. The train was now about two thousand feet up, climbing rapidly and glowing brightly, like some strange comet.

“I’d better get up there,” said Peter. “If I don’t close the lid to that chest, they’ll never get down.”

“I suppose so,” said Wendy.

“I’ll be back,” said Peter, launching himself into the sky, with Tink zooming behind.

“I hope so,” said Wendy, to the night.

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